


Spread Your Wings, Little Dove

by ScarletDestiny



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Unlikely Friendships, can be read as platonic, just a soft fic, sansa is a good queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletDestiny/pseuds/ScarletDestiny
Summary: Evenings allow Sansa a moment to unwind with a trusted friend. Even queens need a break from politics.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 49





	Spread Your Wings, Little Dove

Amber light from the flickering fire in the grate cast a glow on Sansa’s red locks as she gently tugged a brush through her hair. She had maids for such tasks, but occasionally enjoyed the measure of calm running a brush through her tangles after a long day gave. It soothed her, reminded her of when she was a young girl and her lady mother would brush away the hardships of the day, murmuring words of encouragement in her ear.

Only a few short months ago, Sansa had been crowned Queen in the North. The thought still took her breath away. 

After fighting so long for independence, after dreaming so vividly that the world could be made a more coherent and peaceful place for Westeros, for her people, to see those dreams become reality before her eyes was almost too much to handle. The responsibilities were endless. Constant meetings with lords. Battling for rights for refugees displaced during the war. Rebuilding after so much had been lost during the Long Night. 

Yet, with each task she assigned to a trusted advisor, with each memorial built, each farm planted, each home restored, Sansa could feel the North breathing a sigh of relief. There was no question her task list would remain endless, but she enjoyed the challenge. A far easier one it was than to play the Game of Thrones. 

Still, there were days loneliness crept into her heart. 

Her family was once again scattered to the winds. Arya had sailed west in search of...well, Sansa was not entirely certain. Her sister needed a quest, one that did not involve revenge. One that sated her natural curiosity. Still, she hoped one day Arya would find herself home in Winterfell again, if only for a time before her next adventure.

Bran was King of the Six Kingdoms. A title he seemed to hold with ease, though she often wondered just how satisfied her little brother was serving in such a role. At least he was safe. 

Jon had been exiled far to the North. Perhaps it was simpler for him to leave, in the end, walk away from the pain and sorrow that existed south. Though she had made it clear if he ever needed a respite, he was welcome within Winterfell. They may not always see eye-to-eye, but he would remain family, no matter his blood. 

A knock on her chamber door roused Sansa from thoughts of her family. “Enter,” she called out, deftly pushing aside her hair and straightening her gown before rising. A queen had to be presentable at all times. 

A tall figure loomed in the doorway, hesitating with one hand on the oaken door. “You decent?” a gruff voice responded. 

Sighing slightly in relief at not being disturbed by a maid or messenger, Sansa nodded her assent. “If I weren’t, I would hardly allow you inside my chambers,” she responded driely. 

Pushing the door open fully, Sandor Clegane stepped into the room, the mottled scar on his face softened by the warm glow of the fire. Though a tall, well-built man, his head brushing the ceiling in certain places such as when he dipped through the lower archways of Winterfell, Sansa had grown accustomed to his hulking presence. 

Throughout the past few months, he had been a constant member of her party. Though Sansa had still to learn the full details of his conversation with Arya back in King’s Landing, it seemed the two had struck an accord, turning aside from their ultimate plots of revenge in search of a life worth living. Since Arya had sailed west, Sansa had expected Sandor to wander off in search of some adventure, some goal, but instead he had offered her his services as guard. 

Well, she would have been foolish to refuse. 

Her sister trusted the man, and Sansa held some measure of respect for him. After all, though their relationship had been fraught with complexities, he had saved her life on numerous occasions. Trusted help was difficult to find. Besides, Sansa would take kindness where she noticed it. 

“All is well?” She questioned, tilting her head up slightly to look Sandor in the eye. Around this time at night, he often stopped by to give her a progress report, though she suspected he also wanted to ensure her safety. While most of the North accepted her rule without question, it was difficult to turn over centuries of tradition within a matter of a few months.

“Guard ain’t slacking off at the walls,” he grunted in reply, taking his customary seat beside the fire. “Nothing much to look out for tonight.” Though Sansa knew from experience that ‘nothing much’ meant Sandor would still spend most of his evening at his post outside her door. While it was nice to feel so secure in her own home, having guards hovering constantly over her shoulder still unnerved her.

Pouring himself a mug of ale, Sandor leaned back in his overstuffed chair, throwing Sansa a glance. “You push yourself too hard,” he commented in his blunt manner. 

Sansa merely shook her head. “Hardly. I feel stretched thin, but there’s still more to do.” Petitions rolled in daily. Though the Long Winter was turning out to be much shorter than anyone anticipated, it would take quite some time for wildlife numbers to return to normal after the disaster wrecked upon the North from the Night King’s army. 

Food was scarce, but Northerners were hearty and Sansa knew they would pull through. Survive this one winter, and then fields could be replanted. Golden ages of peace didn’t simply happen overnight. 

Part of the trouble of ruling, Sansa was discovering, was learning who to trust. After spending so long embroiled in politics, she found it difficult to open her heart and mind to those around her, no matter their good intentions. Men, when given the chance, always grasped for power. 

Sandor was different. He never pressured her to make decisions she was uncomfortable with, instead allowing her room to voice her thoughts before presenting them to the lords. Surprisingly, he made a good sounding board. 

“Keep pulling yourself in twenty directions and you’ll burn out,” he muttered, taking a swing of his ale. “You wouldn’t be helping the North then.” 

Acknowledging his point with a gentle tilt of her head, Sansa turned her eyes to the flickering fire. “Do you ever feel like you have to prove yourself to the world?” So many legacies hung around her shoulders, cloaking her. Her lord father. Lady mother. Robb. They all had a hand in who she had become, who she wanted to be in order to lead the North. 

But she had also learned from Cersei, from Margery, from the never-ending political scheming in the south. She wanted no part of such a game ever again. Surely there had to be a way to keep the North safe from such turmoil. She trusted Bran to lead well - gods knew he’d do whatever it took to keep the realms safe from war! Yet, she still could not shake the sense that life couldn’t turn out this...simply.

“I think you put too much stock into what other people think,” Sandor replied. “Trust that brain of yours.” 

Much easier said than done, of course. 

Sansa shook her head. “We make an odd pair, don’t we?” She’d heard the whispers echoing through the halls at night when servants thought she was listening elsewhere. A queen and her guard. Not that there was anything untoward in her friendship with Sandor, but tongues would wag. 

She felt comfortable in his presence, as though nothing could harm her so long as he stood by her side. It was a feeling she was unused to, one she chose not to dwell on too deeply. Perhaps, one day, she would allow herself to explore her emotions in closer detail, but for now, she gratefully accepted his companionship. 

Most evenings were spent around her fire, discussing politics in easy tones. He never offered advice unless she asked, or unless he thought she needed a break. It was nice, simply to talk, to be heard. To be seen as an intelligent woman, not just a queen. 

“A hound and a dove?” He snorted. “Chickenshit.” Still, he turned his gaze to watch her. “Unlikely alliances. I’ve always been a fan.”


End file.
